


Over my head

by figaro



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Additional Tags Added As Needed, Angst, Emotional self harm, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Sex Work, and these boys are dumb, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figaro/pseuds/figaro
Summary: Felix, though he doesn't want to be, is an actual human being with feelings: feelings for his friend and eternal fuckup Sylvain, who actually likes being a human, thank you very much, even though it comes with too much pain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating may change to explicit in future chapters.  
Thanks to Fleetwood Mac for keeping me company banging this out. It's been like 4 years since my last fic and I am feeling the _rust_!

Training never stopped. School might be over and war might rage, but training was eternal. As Felix cut down yet another straw soldier and glared for a new one in the dusty carnage of the training hall, he spotted Sylvain walking through the door. He hissed in annoyance and turned his back to his friend, the blade in his hand still vibrating in search of a new target.

“You know you sound like a cat when you do that? Spitting and hissing, and if the wolf coating your collar wasn’t already very much dead, I’d say your fur was bristling too.”

“Make it quick, Sylvain. I am busy.”

Sylvain huffed a laugh and, daring his life without thought as usual, walked over to Felix and clapped him on the shoulder. “I figured we should take our minds off things for the evening. Take a walk down to the village… Well, what’s left of the village, anyway. Inn’s open and the barmaids are cute. One of them has the most amazing—“

“Not interested.”

“Aw, come on. You can kill as many imaginary imperial enemies as you like, but if you just got _laid_…”

Felix shrugged off the hand still lingering on his shoulder and turned, facing Sylvain. “Too much work, dancing around women in hope of them lifting their skirt. I have more important things to do.”

“But flirting’s the fun part! The back and forth, the nudging, the preening, the chase, and then…”

_The subtle clawing into their reason for flirting back, the hidden suspicious glances once you introduce yourself and see their faces light up with recognition, the horror of being reduced to a walking, breathing crest._

Felix shrugged again. “I find nothing amusing about it. It’s not like it’s a clever game. As a noble the board’s already rigged but still it takes hours to win a round. If I want my needs sated I’d rather go three houses down from the inn or stay in my room.”

Sylvain’s eyes widened. “You go to the _brothel_?” Both hands landed on Felix’ shoulders now, clamping down. “You. Felix. _You_ buy time with whores?”

Always the touching. The nudging and grabbing and elbowing. Always those large hands on Felix, unsettling him almost as much as the warm brown gaze aimed at him. He held back a shudder and forced the half formed thoughts back. “Yes, I. It saves time. The level of caring is mutual. A simple business transaction, my needs taken care of, and I’m back to whatever actually needs to be done within an hour or two.” He wanted to shrug the grip on him off again but he didn’t. The hands would be back, and besides, while unsettling, a part of him wanted them there. Why else would it even be unsettling?

But Sylvain let go of his own accord, taking a step back and crossing his arms, eyeing Felix suspiciously. “That…makes sense? But I just can’t see you, you know.”

_Fucking?_

“They don’t even kiss! And the flirting, it’s all fake, it’s paid for!”

“As if the flirting with barmaids and whoever else with a pretty face in your vicinity is genuine,” Felix snorted. “You couldn’t give a shit about them, and they’d rather have your name than your embrace. I just cut out the games. They get gold, I get fucked, everyone comes away with what they agreed on.”

“Crass, Felix. I should know better with you, but, just… _crass_!” Sylvain, to Felix mild amusement, actually looked scandalized.

“And they do kiss, for an extra fee. I usually don’t bother though.” Felix couldn’t help but smirk at Sylvain’s raised brows. “Oh don’t worry, you still get more female attention than I ever will. I only do it to let off steam when my arms need rest.”

This was true on more than one level. Felix rarely ever sought out the female whores at the brothel, to the point where the Madame there whisked him right away to the separate salon for men with _different_ tastes. But, of course, Sylvain didn’t need to know that.

“But… Ah.” Sylvain scrubbed a hand through his hair, his laughter a bit brittle.

“What thought is it that troubles you most? That I buy my partners? Or the simple fact that I have needs.”

“_Both_, to be honest. I wouldn’t use the world troubled, though. I guess I’m just surprised! I mean… No.” Sylvain shook his head, held his hands out as if to calm. “I knew you’re no virgin. With your looks that not even an option. But I guess I still saw you as….as _above_ it all, you know?” His hands raised in a shrug, arms outstretched. “I knew you’d turn me down picking up girls, but thought I had a decent chance to get you thoroughly drunk with me at the inn, at least. But all this? It’s like looking at a new person.” A grin smoothed away the honesty of his words.

To Felix he looked near coldcocked.

_Good. Think about that. Think about me with a warm body in my arms in a tawdry little room._

Felix turned his back to Sylvain, shook out his arms and raised his blade, ready to go at the bare pole next to the fallen straw soldier. It had been the last of them standing. “No drinks. No girls. If you need it, go by yourself. Try not to break too many hearts.”

_Try not to break your own any more than you already have._

“Got it.” Sylvain left, his parting words not entirely steady.

Felix almost went down to the village that evening, as if to make a point, but the risk of running into Sylvain was too great. He wasn’t ready for more prying, not yet, not _there_. He stayed in, settling for his hand.

Two nights later, however, he found himself unable to ignore the itch that had kept building since the talk in the training hall, and he went.

The Madame, a large woman in her fifties with cool eyes and a sweet set to her mouth, met him at the entrance with a perfumed kiss to his cheek and an arm held out, waiting to be led into her own establishment. She had cut out the cooing and empty compliments soon after his first visit, and went right down to business.

“We have a few new arrivals. What with the war going on there’s always some poor soul who needs a roof above their head and some gold. They’re all _very_ good. Up to my standards, and yours, I can assure you.”

Felix nodded, and headed for the salon off to the side, the woman on his arm chatting away behind a large, laced, ever-present fan, as if to preserve modesty and privacy in a house where there was none.

His heart nearly stopped as he entered and he froze, jerking the Madame back a step with him. On the other side of the room stood a tall man with his back turned to them, his hair fire red, his build slim but strong.

Madame turned to him in consternation, but after one look at his face, she followed his gaze and her lips twisted in a knowing smile. “Him? One of the new arrivals. Theodore. As sweet as could be. He’ll give you your money’s worth and then some.”

Felix didn’t know whether to turn around and leave or run up to the man and jerk him around. Indecision kept him frozen, stilted his words. “Theodore? Looks military. The build. Posture.”

“Oh, no, dear.” Madame fluttered her fan before snapping it closed and swatting Felix lightly on the arm with it. “Farmer. Or farmer’s son, more like it. Your age. Their land was razed from what I’ve heard. Fled east they did, but he ended up here. Had his wits about him and stayed out of the fighting.” Remembering whose arm she held on to made her backtrack. “Of course there’s fighting needed to be done! But it should be done with your heart in it, not by being pressed into service under a Lord you’ve barely heard of.”

Felix nodded jerkily, eyes still fixed on the man, this _Theodore_. He needed to stop. He needed to _see_—

“Theodore, darling! Come here for a moment.”

The man turned. His hair, his build, yes—there was a striking resemblance, but Felix felt his breathing even out in relief and his stomach sink in disappointment simultaneously. It wasn’t Sylvain. Sylvain, playing a nasty prank on Felix. Sylvain talking himself into the establishment, setting up a ruse to get Felix to—to _what_? Seduce him? Ridiculous. Dangerous thinking.

_I am a fool._

Theodore walked over and stopped a few steps away with a slightly nervous smile, one hip cocked. He had a pleasant face, a bit too soft to be striking, but not far off. His eyes were green, Felix noted, and his lips were soft and plush, made for kissing. Nothing in his movement spoke of Sylvain, but the hair and the build… It was enough. It was enough for Felix to _need_ this man.

“We’ll take a room. An hour. Please.”

“Second on the left, Theodore, “ Madame said, voice all business now. “Go on, while I work out the bill with our young master here.”

“Yes Madame.” Theodore bowed slightly and turned to comply, throwing a rather sweet, though still nervous smile over his shoulder at Felix.

“He’s accustomed to men. Prefers them, even. Always makes things easier, doesn’t it?”

Felix didn’t even bother with a nod. He never picked anyone even slightly hesitant, and the Madame knew that. He harbored no illusions that anyone whored for the pleasure of it, but the thought of fucking a man who wasn’t of the same persuasion made him queasy. It wasn’t out of the good of his heart, he just couldn’t stomach it. He needed to feel that base connection at least.

Madame seemed to take Felix’ silence in stride and moved on. “Anything extra?”

Felix blinked and turned to her, acknowledging her presence fully for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Theodore. “Kissing. And…” He looked back down the narrow hall where Theodore had disappeared. “…make it two hours.”

Madame slipped her arm from Felix’ and snapped open her fan, a knowing tone in her voice. “Understood, sir. Enjoy yourself.”

Theodore was as sweet as Madame had said; sweet as berries and cream, his plush lips quivering against Felix’ as Felix pushed him down on the bed, his big, long fingered hands tentatively stroking down Felix’ chest before unbuttoning his shirt. And Felix, always having hated sweets, regretted the extra gold he’d paid for the kissing, before ordering Theodore on all fours.

He took enough care to not be cruel, not hurt, but he was rough. Staring down at the slender, strong back and the red hair gripped in his hand, he was there, but also back at the monastery, while fucking hard into the body beneath him. It trembled in a way Felix had only seen Sylvain do while injured, and he wondered—he tried so hard not to—but he wondered if Sylvain would tremble the same way under his hands. Wondered if Sylvain’s breath would be as harsh, if his voice would rise an octave while egging him on telling him how _good_ it was, how he _needed_ it. Wondered if Sylvain would reach back and grip his hip like this, urging him to go faster, harder, _deeper_, and that was enough to make Felix come, bucking into Theodore while biting down on Sylvain’s name so hard he heard a crack in his jaw.

There was no aftermath, another reason he preferred whores. He simply pulled out and sat back, calming his breath and thundering heart, carefully chasing away the impossible thoughts of his friend that lingered. The red hair and tall, slim build very quickly became an annoyance instead of an allure and he looked away when Theodore gingerly turned around and sat up.

He seemed hesitant in how to act, and Felix, his heart squeezed in his chest by the last remains of lusting after what he couldn’t have, took pity. He ran a hand through Theodore’s hair, still not quite looking at him, and sighed.

“Thank you,” Felix said. “You did well. I just—Nevermind.“

He got off the bed, grabbed a couple of rags, threw one to Theodore, and wiped himself off brusquely. The thought that this had all been a giant mistake began to take root and the urge to flee threatened to overtake him. So he slowly, carefully dressed himself, refusing to allow anything as ridiculous as _emotion_ to rule him. Nothing so trite could make Felix Fraldarius run away. Not from a whore, not from anyone. He squared himself and looked straight at Theodore, who looked as if he’d been following Felix every move with his eyes from where he was sitting curled on the bed. “I’ll make sure to give a good word to the Madame, and leave a good tip.” He paused, thinking. “Does she pocket them or is she fair?”

“Not seen a tip so far, sir, “ Theodore said hesitantly.

“Then I’ll leave it with you. Keep it somewhere safe.” He fished some gold from the pouch in his coat, more than enough for a decent tip, closer to looking like something like a bribe were he to be honest with himself, and put it down on the sturdy little table next to the bed. Whatever he would even be bribing the man for he refused to look into any closer.

Theodore’s eyes widened, the hand dragging the rag across his neck paused. “Sir, this is—“

“Will it get you into trouble?”

“Not unless you count ‘getting out of here and on my way back to my family a lot faster’ as trouble, sir.”

Felix added a couple more coins to the little stack. “Good. Take care. I hope you get to where you want to be as soon as possible.”

Theodore’s hesitant smile turned bemused, cynical, almost. “Thank you, sir.” He finished with a blow to the heart worthy of a warrior. “I hope you get who you actually want soon, as well.”

Felix did his best not to stagger out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Weeks passed. War was funny like that. The urgent fury of battles were like flash fires in between long stretches of preparation, attempts at diplomacy, and waiting. Just day after day after _day_ of waiting. Felix trained. He kept to himself and trained, often far beyond his limits of endurance. Anything to keep his mind off

_Sylvain_

things.

Did it work? Of course not. Sylvain had a way of inserting himself into Felix’ life, whether he was invited or not. Not in person, for once, but one rumor after another reached Felix’ ears. He would have to train outside the monastery to stay away from what happened within, and although he craved the solitude, he wasn’t stupid enough to make himself a target.

But yes, it seemed like every pageboy repairing straw soldiers, every groom strolling by, every ally he couldn’t avoid had something to say, and the somethings were now always about either one of two things: the war, and Sylvain.

He was a scoundrel. Something had snapped. He tried to sleep with every single woman he talked to. He’d been chased by furious husbands and mothers. He’d come back to the monastery so drunk people had to carry him to bed. He’d fucked a nun. He’d fucked a _monk_. The rumors swirled, each more tawdry and ridiculous than the next.

Felix didn’t know what to believe. Frankly, he didn’t even want to listen, but still his ears pricked up whenever the bastard’s name was mentioned. What he could make out with some amount of certainty was that Sylvain was trotting down a path that would leave him less than he was. This was nothing new; Felix had seen the behavior more than once before, and he and Ingrid had always been there to set Sylvain straight. Now Felix refused to heed the call, and Sylvain simply didn’t stop. The rumors continued.

It took Ingrid hurling a training spear, blunted, but still enough to crack a skull, an inch from Felix’ ear without him even having time to react, for things to come screeching to a halt. She stood there, at the entrance of the training hall, calmly telling Felix that Sylvain was in his room, beaten black and blue by a villager who had caught Sylvain with his wife, and had refused to open his door for two days. During this weeks-long ‘episode’, as she called it, she had already broken down his door twice after other similar scandals, but she was at her wit’s end as it had yielded nothing. And Sylvain had always gotten out unscathed before. A scoundrel, yes, but a scoundrel without a death wish. This was different. He was hurt.

Felix still heard the _woosh_ of the spear as it had passed his ear, repeating over and over, as the man he had avoided for weeks now crashed back into his life with Ingrid’s words.

“Fix him. I’m done.”

Outside the sun was setting. In a moment the dinner bell would ring, and the dining hall would fill up. Felix used the back door into the kitchen and got a neatly packed little basket of food from the chef without even having to ask. It seemed the rumors were everywhere, and not just gathering in his vicinity. He thanked the chef curtly before striding towards Sylvain’s room. He didn’t know what he was going to say or do, beyond getting the door open and getting Sylvain to eat and heal up. With that thought, he stopped by a storage room to snag a couple of potions, tucking them into the basket, before continuing.

Outside Sylvain’s room Felix stopped. He really didn’t know what to say, how he could make this stop. He felt a diffuse ache in his chest, traced it back to its source. It was the same old story: Sylvain lured women close, not to satisfy his ego, but to break it. He knew the only reason he was where he was was because of his crest and his creed. He thought his position was the only thing that mattered about him. And he baited women into his line of thinking. He only seduced them to hear he was a price, an object, a goal, used them to beat himself up about the unfairness of bloodlines and heritage. Felix didn’t know if there was anything about the process Sylvain genuinely enjoyed besides the masochistic pleasure of being proven right. He wondered if Sylvain even enjoyed the sex, or if it was just a punishing step to reach his little gotcha moment, where he could point his finger at the woman

_at himself_

and sneer, telling her, thinking he was lashing out when he was just lashing _in_, that all that he was good for was his blood and _goddess_ was she stupid for thinking she could use him to better her future.

Destructive and self destructive. Sylvain sure knew how to spread the joy around.

Felix sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. This was the man his heart had chosen. They were both truly idiots to the core.

He knocked and waited. Nothing.

He knocked again, harder. “Sylvain. It’s me. Open the door.”

Nothing.

“One way or the other you’re getting healed and fed. If that means me breaking down this door and forcing it down your throat, so be it.”

He heard someone stirring within.

“Sylvain, just… Please.”

Felix was so tired. He felt like he’d been running for weeks. He guessed he had. But he was done. The knowledge of Sylvain being hurt was like bruises on his own skin, the knowledge of Sylvain hurting himself using others was like a knife in Felix’ gut. Once he’d been able to shake it off. Now it just _hurt_.

The door opened and Felix took a step back, wincing at the sight of Sylvain. He was indeed beaten up badly, a mottle of bruises covering half his face, one eye swollen shut, his lip split, and he cradled his chest as someone with a cracked rib or three.

Felix drew his breath to speak but was immediately cut off.

“You look like _shit_, Felix. When was the last time you slept?”

Felix couldn’t remember, he honestly couldn’t, but that wasn’t what was important here. _He _wasn’t important, when Sylvain stood there looking like—

He felt the ache in his chest grow and swell into red anger, enough to block his voice. He simply stared at Sylvain for a long moment before planting a hand on his chest and pushing back, hard, heedless of any cracked ribs.

Sylvain winced and curled up, backing away from the door opening, and Felix followed, slamming the door shut behind him. His free hand clenched in a fist and for a moment he saw with perfect clarity how he finished Sylvain’s self demolition for him: with violence and fury and rejection from one of the only people Sylvain actually trusted. Felix swore loudly and slammed his fist into the door he’d just closed. How was _he_ the person for this job? How could _he _pick up the pieces of his friend and put them back together?

He took a deep breath and tried to center himself. Sylvain stood frozen two steps away. His eyes only confirmed everything Felix thought. This could be where it all broke beyond repair. The naked hurt, and behind it the prepared detonation, something to blow their relationship apart.

No. Felix remembered every single time Sylvain had taken a blow for him on the battlefield, every time he had surprised a laugh out of him in the middle of chaos, every single smile that was for him and only him.

He stepped around Sylvain, who still stood there ready for his last blow, and sat down on the bed. “Sit.”

Sylvain blinked.

“Sit.” Felix patted the spot next to him, before grabbing one of the potions in the basket. “Sit, and drink this.”

Sylvain actually obeyed. He sat down, gingerly, and took the bottle from Felix’ hand, unstopping it and downing the potion without a word. Good, that would take care of the ribs. The bruises would begin to fade within a day as well, but they always seemed to stick around longer than more critical injuries. Felix noted the cut on Sylvain’s lip closing up, though, leaving a streak of dried blood behind.

“Thank you,” Felix said, words he suspected Sylvain hadn’t heard often these past few weeks. But Sylvain didn’t really react, beyond looking to the side. Felix took a moment to study the face of his friend, let his eyes slide over the ugly bruises and the fine nose, the strong chin, the fire red hair that hung limp and tired in his eyes. The newly healed lip that made Felix flash back to Theodore, to the sweet kisses he found he didn’t want. Sylvain’s lips weren’t plush, but Felix found himself thinking that only made him want to kiss them more. A mix of wildly conflicting emotions spread in his gut, along with a warmth that heated his cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “Brought some food, too.”

“Thank you,” Sylvain croaked, still looking away. The swelling over his eye had started to go down and both eyes were open now, staring at the wall.

“Sylvain, I—“ Felix’ fists clenched and unclenched. He wasn’t good at this. Yes, he had dragged Sylvain back up out of this...hole he went into, over and over again, before, but Ingrid had always done most of the talking. And Ingrid had probably never wanted to ravish Sylvain while talking sense into him. Felix sighed. “You need to stop hurting yourself.”

Sylvain turned back to stare at him. “_What_?! I’m not sure you know how these things work but I didn’t fuck up my own face, Felix. I decidedly did not kick my ribs into splinters and—“

“Shut up.”

“If you honestly think—“

“I said, shut up.” Felix heard danger creeping into his voice and hated himself a little for it, but he couldn’t help it. Sylvain was infuriating in his denial and stupidity.

Sylvain obviously heard it too, because he braced himself, voice and face stronger now as health crept back into his body, as physical pain receded. “There’s no need to lecture me about anything, I’ve already heard it all from Ingrid. The last person I need to hear it from again is you.”

_Baiting me. Don’t take it, you idiot._

Felix was floundering. His rage was there, but banked, because he knew it wouldn’t help, but he also had no idea who he was without it. He always used it. To push himself, to kill, to help, to go forward. “You. Need.” He bit off every word with the deadly silence of that banked fury. “To. Stop.”

“Oh, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Felix. Coming here, all high and mighty, as if you have everything under control. I don’t even know why—“

“You hate everything you are _so much_. You want to claw that crest out of your body. You want to undo usurping your brother. You want every woman you fuck to demand your hand in marriage so you can hate her just as much as you hate yourself. I have nothing under control, Sylvain. I have nothing but my sword, and my allies, and _you._ And you can’t even see that.”

Sylvain blanched. He stared at Felix in something like awe and open horror. “Hate myself? I don’t...” He trailed off, blinking rapidly.

Felix could feel confusion and hurt and, yes, anger, radiate off Sylvain, giving him almost a visible aura of misery. “Stop fucking them. Stop using them to hurt yourself. If you need to use someone for anything, use me.” The last part slipped out of him without even pausing on the barrier between thought and word and he wished he could swallow it back down. It was too much, too honest.

Sylvain’ mouth opened, then closed a moment later. Then opened. Closed. He huffed out something broken, something that maybe could’ve been interpreted as a laugh under different circumstances. “Use you?” he finally managed.

“Not to hurt yourself like this.” Felix mind had caught up with his mouth. “Though I could accept beating you up while sparring, I guess. But yes.”

_Yes._

“Use me instead.”

“I don’t want to use you, Felix,” Sylvain said, his tone a little more careful now, “I don’t want to use _anyone_.”

“But you do. You did. You won’t anymore. Whatever you need, come to me. Please, Sylvain. I can’t continue watching you sabotage all that is good in you anymore. Enough.”

As this might have been the first time Sylvain saw Felix pleading for anything, it was understandable it shook him up a little. It shook Felix up too. It was as if somewhere along the discussion he had just given in. To Sylvain. To his feelings. He didn’t like to think of himself as someone with feelings. It made him human. It made his needs something more than what a whore could take care of for some coin, like a sword needed honing now and then. It made him feel naked and raw.

“Felix…”

Felix kissed him.

Sylvain’s lips turned rigid in surprise, but Felix let his mouth rest there, kept their mouths connected. Damn the consequences, if Sylvain didn’t want this, he’d just have to say so.

But he never did. As the surprise waned, the line of Sylvain’s mouth softened, and he just let out a small breath, like this was the first real exhale in weeks. It awakened a hunger in Felix he was unfamiliar with, a gentle need to just give and give and _give_. And he gave. He kissed Sylvain again, parted his lips and nipped softly. And this time Sylvain kissed back, nipped back, reached out with hands Felix could feel were _trembling_ and grabbed onto the bristly fur of Felix’ collar, pulling him closer.

Felix felt something like a sob in his chest, acknowledged he was truly and utterly out of his depths and let Sylvain deepen the kiss, let it grow into something with tongue and spit and teeth and Felix was drowning and he never knew drowning could feel this good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's trite, but comments really help keep me going. Leave one if you have the time.<3


	3. Chapter 3

Of course Felix didn’t fix Sylvain that evening. But he’d managed to avoid a disastrous fight, had made sure Sylvain ate and healed up, and he thought he’d opened at least the tiniest of windows into Sylvain’s issues, prodded under the armor of deflection and denial. He wasn’t entirely sure of how much of what he’d said had truly reached Sylvain—there hadn’t been much talk after the kiss. There hadn’t been much of anything besides kissing, some food, and then more kissing. Felix’ lips were sore the day after and he had to smile a little at that. Being sore was basically his default state of being, but he couldn’t remember a time his _lips_ had been sore before. He gently prodded them with a couple of fingertips and felt a satisfying little burst of pain, which managed to distract him from what he was supposed to be doing: head out for a day of sparring.

He wondered what Sylvain was doing. Sleeping, probably; he needed it. Felix had managed to get what sounded like a promise out of him before leaving that he would leave his room and, at the very least, catch an afternoon lecture with Byleth. Not that the monastery worked as a proper school anymore, but lectures were still given, and workgroups held, both by the remaining professors and the former students. Most of them had something to teach that could be useful in the war effort.

Felix sometimes held open sparring sessions for anyone who needed to work on their sword skills. He did it grudgingly, but he did it. Aside from that he made sure to work on his magic skills with Hanneman and Annette whenever they were up for it. It was a school of combat he had never even considered before the war, sure he was made for the sword and nothing else, but to his surprise he had a penchant for black magic. The combination with his sword skills never ceased to please him on the battlefield. If only his princeliness the Boar would drag his ass back into the land of the living instead of whispering with the dead, they were actually shaping up to bring the Empire down once and for all.

There would be casualties, of course, and many of them, but Felix cared about very few people around him. He’d settle for Sylvain and Ingrid making it through. Preferably Dimitri too, as winning a war but standing without a king to deal with the aftermath was less than ideal, to say the least. But even that was optional: Felix wanted the Empire driven to its knees, first and foremost, and mostly out of spite. He wouldn’t mind some cleaning up after that. The thought of peace scared him, since that meant losing his place in the world. Yes, yes, he was supposed to take up his proper position as head of his House someday, get a wife, get an heir on her, and… That was it. No more fighting. He’d spent his life honing himself into a weapon but would end up a simple tool. Nothing down that road made sense to him. He was nothing without strife. He’d have to watch as the same happened to Sylvain, too; married off, settling in as Lord, making Crest babies, growing old and bored and tired, locked into a life he wanted maybe even less than Felix did.

Felix prodded his sore lips again, before shaking the distraction off and forcefully bringing himself back to the present. Ingrid had said ‘Fix him.’, and Felix’ hadn’t. Now, though maybe he should feel overjoyed knowing Sylvain had calmed down—_had kissed him back_—everything in Felix shied away from the situation. Nothing was solved. Sooner or later Sylvain would be back to chasing girls and breaking his own ego, and Felix felt he really had not done much of anything to stop it.

_Use me, instead._

No, he’d been pretty much useless. But at least he had his sore mouth. He shrugged on his coat and headed for the training hall.

Beating a handful of footmen, some fellow classmates, and a few knights, with a singular focus found Felix without sparring partners a couple of hours later. He’d done nothing to instruct or better, just presented himself as a stone wall no one seemed able to break through or scale. He knew he wasn’t helping anyone and he simply did not care. Working himself this hard pushed Sylvain to the back of his mind but an irritating buzz lingered in his body, making him knock opponents to the ground instead of halting his blunted blade. He was pretty sure a couple of them had left concussed, _knew_ most of them would be bruised, but shrugged it off. Sylvain’s kisses lingered on his lips, and his entire being lurked inside, buried, but not deep enough. Felix felt as if his skin was too tight, as if he was about to run a fever, and he didn’t bother to hide his irritation.

Someone muttered about a rabid dog on their way out, another made sure to knock their shoulder into him while passing, none had learned anything more than that they were glad he would be on their side in actual battle, but they’d rather avoid him until then.

Felix noted the slights but did not react. Ignoring the swordsmen and women and their ruffled egos and bruised sides would be better than cracking their skulls. He very much wanted to start something but it would help solve nothing.

Felix swore and stuck his borrowed sword back into the barrel with the others. This was pointless. He would clean up and head down to the village for a meal far away from anyone he knew, and maybe after that get thoroughly laid by someone he'd never have to think of again.

But he couldn’t go to the brothel, could he? If Theodore still worked there, Felix would probably snap and get himself thrown out. Everything came back to Sylvain, it seemed: Sylvain on a destructive bender, Sylvain _kissing back, why the fuck had he kissed Felix back,_ Sylvain filthy and hurt and _stupid_. But no one was more stupid than Felix himself. _Use me_? What did that even mean?!

He was halfway to Sylvain’s room before he even consciously realized he’d left the training hall without even dusting himself off. He froze and took a sharp turn toward the dining hall instead. He might not be fit for people, but he needed to eat. Maybe the chef would hand him another basket.

Ingrid stood waiting beside the backdoor to the kitchen, arms crossed, a booted heel resting against the stone wall. Felix swore again, quietly.

“I said ‘fix him’, not break him.” She pushed off the wall and walked up to Felix.

“I did no such thing,” Felix snapped, intent on walking on. A hand on his shoulder, the grip iron, stopped him.

“Well, whatever you did seems to have worked wonders.” Her voice was dulled somehow, tired. “He walked by a while ago, still yellow from bruising, shrugging on his nicest jacket. Headed for the village. I asked if he’d been to Byleth’s lecture on tactics but he sidestepped the question completely. Said he had ‘places to be and women to do’.”

Felix didn’t bother to smother this curse.

“What _did_ you do to him Felix? His smile looked so brittle it would have shattered with a gentle tap.”

“I…” Felix tilted his head back and looked straight up at the sky, blinking, secretly glad for Ingrid’s grip on his shoulder. Despite the tangle of emotions now nearly making him sick, he didn’t find any urge to take it out on her. He’d never been able to treat her quite as badly as he treated everyone else. She was too…good. And she knew him too well.

He kept staring at the sky while talking. It turned his voice croaky and weak-sounding, but nothing in the world could force him to make eye contact at that moment. “I gave him a potion and some food—he opened the door of his own free will—and told him it was time to stop punishing himself.”

“Nothing I haven’t tried before. Why did he look like he was about to cry?”

“…I kissed him.”

“_Felix—_“

Felix looked back down, focusing on a random spray of ivy on the wall behind Ingrid’s shoulder. “It’s none of your business, but he kissed me back. It felt as if I actually reached through to him for once, Ingrid. I told him to _stop fucking around_ and I gave him a reason to do so.”

“You—” Ingrid choked out, dropping her hand. “You tried to _kiss_ it all better?! You thought this would actually change…” She threw her hands up in baffled despair “…_anything_?”

_I knew it wouldn’t change a thing. Maybe I hoped, deep down, but I knew._

The misery must have shown on his face, because something in Ingrid’s stance softened. A quick glance at her face confirmed it.

“Oh, Felix... You have feelings for him, don’t you.”

Animal panic struck like a blow.

_Never bow, never bend, a Fraldarius stands firm._

But he’d never been closer to running away. The only thing keeping him rooted to the spot was years of discipline drilled into his very core. He tried to scoff, but it came out all wrong, too soft. His heart seemed to be doing its best to break out of his ribcage.

“It wasn’t a tactical decision, the kiss,” he managed.

Ingrid made a sympathetic noise, chafing against that animal part inside him.

“I—I needed him to shut up. He was out to hurt me for saying the truth and I just… Acted.”

He noted silently that Ingrid should know better than to touch him at a moment like this, but there her hand was, grabbing his. He let her. The thought of losing what might be his one remaining friend was intolerable. She squeezed tightly, urging him to actually look at her.

“I don’t claim to understand your feelings or actions, Felix, I can’t. I’ve never seen Sylvain as anything other than a friend, a horribly mannered friend. And I’ve never really…you know…myself.”

Felix nodded stiffly.

“But you said he kissed you back.”

“Maybe just out of shock.”

“So just one kiss, then?”

“…No.”

“Seems your feelings are in some way returned then.” Her smile wasn’t honest enough to be reassuring.

“I may just as well be another notch in his belt. Or another sharp edge for him to cut himself on.” Felix pulled his hand from Ingrid’s grip and crossed his arms over his chest, as if to shield the soft parts inside.

“If it didn’t mean anything, he wouldn’t be running away right now. Not from you. He does need you, Felix. And he trusts you. He must be shaken up pretty badly. Maybe he never knew how you felt and is a bit jolted.”

_Just like he was jolted into a race to the bottom after learning I regularly have sex with paid strangers._

Felix stood up ramrod straight, blinking rapidly, as a torrent of thoughts slotted into each other and locked down.

It was after their talk about the brothel Sylvain had started getting out of control. Ingrid had tried talking him down, but Felix had just ignored him. And he hadn’t stopped. Not until he’d had his face and ribs broken.

He’d let Felix treat him. On the verge of blowing their friendship up, sure, but he’d let him. And then Felix had kissed him.

He had seemed calmed by it, had retracted his spikes and thrown himself into kissing back. Had felt Felix up pretty brazenly, to be honest, but Felix had held back. Kept to kissing and stroking Sylvain’s arms, his neck, his dirty hair.

Felix hadn’t folded, though battered by Sylvain’s charm aimed at him like a sniper’s arrow. He had held firm, even while he was all but drowning in Sylvain’s kisses.

How had he gotten out of there?

Quite abruptly. One kiss about to melt into another, and he’d sat up, telling Sylvain to get some sleep, and go back to his usual routine the day after. Go to the lecture. All that.

Felix hadn’t meant to brush Sylvain off. Truth be told, he’d mostly done it for his own sanity. He'd been uncomfortably hard at that point, but he absolutely refused to do something Sylvain would regret afterwards. He knew Sylvain’s ribs still needed time to mend fully as well. Sex had been off the table, and Felix’ banked arousal had started to wear on his discipline. So he’d stopped.

Had he left Sylvain thinking he’d been yet another mistake made by someone, best thrown aside?

Felix groaned.

“What?” Ingrid, who had left Felix to come to his own conclusions in peace, looked at him, earnest green eyes piercing him. As if he wasn’t in enough pain already.

“I’ve fucked up, Ingrid.”

She cocked her head. ‘What else is new?’ the gesture said.

Felix took it for the reprimand it was. He brushed his gloved hand over his face and sighed.

“I need to fix this.” He turned on his heel and started heading for the main gate.

“Fix it with your words this time, not just your mouth!” Ingrid called after him, loud enough to create gossip on the spot.

Good thing he didn’t care a bit about what other people thought of him.

_Most_ other people, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a oneshot writer at heart and writing chapter by chapter is slowly killing me, so I might take this down in the future and gather and finish it before putting it up in one go. No worries for those kind and curious enough to subscribe to the story, I'll let you know if and when that happens so you won't be left hanging.
> 
> Your comments help me going, though. Love you all.
> 
> ALSO if any of you happen to have a nice fe3h discord to recommend, do hit me up!


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